the Hayward fault
by peanut-gallery-ghostwriter
Summary: Modern AU, set in the San Francisco Bay Area. Levi eventually falls for this OC and they eventually get nasty.
1. No Nuts

Wednesday:

One track. Just one. god. damn. track. She hasn't been able to hear it objectively for three days, yet she keeps fucking editing it. The song, or what's left of it, is hot garbage at this point-like an overproduced country-pop tune designed to be blared over the speakers at your local department store. Max hangs her head in defeat once she realizes that the initial improvised feel to the song is effectively gone.

Then she immediately doesn't care anymore because it's four in the goddamn morning and she's been up since yesterday._Thank fuck it's Monday_. She doesn't work on Mondays.

Very slowly, she unfolds her legs out from underneath her. Her knees quiver as a dull but whelming numbness spreads down her calves and shins. It makes her hands ball into fists and her feet flex-maybe the small motions will lessen the ache as sensation returns to her stiff legs. Maybe.

She hobbles from her desk and straightens her posture, in need of some relief from hours of slouching close to her monitor. It's corrective, but not enough for her to forgive herself so easily… Just five years ago, this kind of thing was so easy to pull off. _Hm,_ she sighs, _I'm not old... fuck off... _ For a moment she wonders why she still does this to herself, but no more than a moment.

Because whatever. It doesn't matter. Nothing wrong with a little self-sabotage every once in a while.

She stretches her hip, tucks her chin to her chest, and raises her arms high above her head. She breathes in until there's no more space in her chest, and then lets the air out so slowly that her vision begins to darken. There's a fuzzy, stuffy feeling churning about in her head that sort of feels like the beginning of a cold, but it's surely fatigue. Sleep deprivation might kill her one day.

_Now_ after confronting her mortality for a second time within 2 minutes, her attitude shifts: the weight of the world suddenly leaves her, and she's blissfully apathetic. Max doesn't care.

She strips where she stands, tosses her glasses onto her desk, stumbles to her bathroom with her eyes half-closed, and turns on the faucet to the shower. When the water is almost scalding, she nudges the shower door closed behind herself and braces against the hot stream face-first. For fifteen minutes, Max fights the desire to fall asleep even though she's standing naked and erect, and even though hot water is pelting her squarely in the face. She calmly lets her mind go blank as the heat from the water brings her to life again, and she wraps her arms around her torso in a tight hug.

At 4:28 AM, she finally sloths into her bed. She hasn't put on her mouthguard, barely gets a sheet over herself, and she can't find her pillow but it doesn't fucking matter.

At 4:29:30 AM, she realizes with a jolt that it's not fucking Monday and she's a fucking idiot.

At 4:30 AM, her alarm goes off, but Max is already tearing through her room looking for the keys to the cafe while half-crying, half-screaming at full volume. It's a good thing her room is soundproofed. Had she been well-rested, maybe she would have more quickly remembered _leaving the keys where she always leaves them in her fucking backpack _. Actually, many other things would be different if she had slept. Maybe that song wouldn't have come out sounding so awful if she had just gone to bed _when it was only fucking midnight. _

_Oh god, _Max remembers, _the song… _She winces at the thought of playing it for her bandmates, who will tear it to shreds at their next practice.

If they don't, she'll have to find new bandmates.

Her housemate-and coincidentally also a bandmate-Petra, who was just rudely awakened by Max's tantrum, storms out of her room across the hallway and slams her fists against Max's door, yelling "Oh my GOD MESSI. DAMN YOU. SHUT UP."

Petra's fists do not stop pelting Max's door even as Max throws it open.

Petra and Max stare wide-eyed at each other _for five whole seconds_. Petra is lost for words-she can't remember the last time Max did this, if she has ever done this, that is. Is Max deliberately trying to sabotage her? Petra takes in a couple of breaths, still pissed, and growls at Max quietly: "What. _In the lord's name. _Was _that _?" Contrary to what one might expect, when she says 'the lord', she actually means Satan.

Max mutters a botched apology, but then adds "you don't always have to be so goddam dramatic-my room is fucking soundproofed" like an jerk, pulls some pants on, hops in front of the mirror in the hallway, ruffles her short hair around, tries to pull her bangs down, smears on a coat of dark red lipstick, overcorrects with too much lipstick, pouts, darts back to her room, accidentally kicks her bass drum and symbols stand, winces, grabs her helmet and backpack, and screams past Petra out the door. Max's symbols are still ringing, but aside from that the apartment is dead still. Petra briefly wonders if this is what it's like having a toddler around.

Fortunately Max has some self awareness, so she turns around. She opens the apartment door again, and calls to Petra, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm cranky and sleep deprived, but I still shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry I woke you up, I hope you have a good day." Then, she immediately leaves.

She didn't get to hear Petra say, "I know, I know. I hope you have a good day, too."

Max pedals frantically to work, and the wind shoves her bangs up through the air vents of her helmet. She delicately wipes her thumb against the edge of her lower lip to correct the line of her lipstick, but it doesn't really help much. She looks like a mess, no two ways about it.

Max lives in West Oakland, and has to bike about 20 to 25 minutes to get to her cafe in South Berkeley, so she gets a move on it and tries to disregard the wind blowing tears out of her eyes.

* * *

Erwin gets out of his car at 4:59 AM, and slowly walks up to his favorite cafe, Titan Roasters, while scrolling through news articles on his phone. He doesn't look up from his phone as he reaches for the doorknob. Unexpectedly, it's locked. Puzzled, Erwin looks up from his phone and peers inside through the large storefront window-it's as dark inside as it is outside.

Then, he looks at his watch-he's on time.

This has happened one other time since he's been coming to this cafe, and he's been coming to this cafe pretty much every weekday morning for 6 years-ever since he took up his professorship at UC Berkeley as a physical anthropologist. He puts his phone in his pocket, and adjusts the strap of his satchel bag. Erwin hates waiting. He doesn't look at anything but his damn reflection in the window for over five minutes.

At 5:08, Max tears around the street corner and screeches to a halt right in front of him on the sidewalk, nearly hitting him. She expected him to be waiting, _but_ _not directly in front of the goddamn door. _Silently she wishes she hit him-just a little tap. Why? Because Erwin looks like he could be about the height of the ever-punchable Michelin tire company marshmallow-man mascot. In a flurry of movements she gets the door unlocked.

Erwin enters, holds the door for her, and scooches out of the way as she pushes herself and her bike the back room. He thinks he heard her mumble an "excuse me," a "thank you," and a "good morning" but it could easily have been the sound of her bike crashing into every god damn table in the cafe. Erwin watches her barrel through the tiny space like a rogue turkey in a parking lot. She smells like shower. Her hair is spiking in every direction. Her lipstick is impeccable-and it annoys him. Everything annoys him. Like an absolute asshole, he wonders if she's late because she was perfecting her makeup.

He takes his booth located across from the espresso bar and pulls his laptop out of his bag before Max can even turn the lights on. The darkness makes him feel ever the more indignant too, but none of his irritation is obvious to anyone because he's hiding behind his well rehearsed bitch-face.

Minutes later, Max delivers a large mug of dark roast along with a small cookie on a plate.

"No nuts," she quips before he can tell her he can't eat nuts. Pleasantly surprised, he suspects her generosity is an apology for making him wait. Admirable. Though, he's still slightly peeved. Erwin Smith is not a man who can be bribed so easily, after all. He takes a bite of the cookie, and then he takes a sip of the bitter coffee. The flavors go well together and he's addicted to caffeine, so he immediately feels better.

Max returns to the counter and ties her apron-there's a manageable line starting to form at the register. Usually there amounts to maybe 25 customers between 5 and 6 AM, which isn't too many, so the patrons and worker of the cafe enjoy the peace while it lasts. Erwin likes the peace-it's why he comes this early-but something was slightly off today aside from the obvious tardiness. Max, Erwin thinks, is off. Irritated, to be precise. Much more irritated than usual, at that. And, like the sadistic asshole he truly is, his mood elevates when he notices this.

He can tell that Max is off because he and Max have spent most mornings near each other since she started working here a little less than six years ago, and she's usually calm-albeit smarmy and slightly subversive, but overall calm. So calm, Erwin has once posited, that she may very well be microdosing every day-which, he has counter-posited, would be absurd because the only income she has is from this cafe job and from her local music gigs. However, she probably has plenty of money given her family history... actually... she's probably _rolling _in it. He has definitely googled her at least four times. Come on though, Massimilana Messina is a unique name to have in Oakland, and it makes finding her information online fairly easy. It was almost easier to find her information than it is to find _his_-a cited researcher and professor at a distinguished university, _and a handsome one at that_. _Yeah... of course he's fucking profiled her_. He's a fucking creep after all. He really can't help himself, especially considering all the time he spends around her in this stupid cafe. When she was still a student, he tried to recruit her into his lab on numerous occasions. When Max was an undergrad she did isotope analysis with Hanji in the geology department, and boy howdy did he want more people on his team who had experience with isotope analysis. It was only natural that he wanted to know as much about her as possible. He's not totally creepy, he's just weird.

Fuck it. Yeah, he's creepy.

Anyways, Erwin thinks it's interesting that she's so infrequently mad, considering she's a barista and deals with assholes all day, every day; _including, sometimes, himself. _It's why he's so impishly excited to see her cranky.

"Soy milk latte for... Banksy? _Wow, creative, _" Max grumbles, just loud enough for literally no one to hear her. "Mind blowing. I'm serving fucking Banksy."

"Sorry, did you say _soy _? I ordered an _almond-milk _latte..."

Max nods her head, but her mouth purses shut and her nostrils flares just slightly. "One moment… _Banksy _." She growls quietly and thinks about spray painting crude dicks and pussies coming out of croissants and coffee drinks all over the walls, and she also thinks about busting the windows out with the bar stools and setting the cafe on fire. She doesn't know which option would be more satisfying at this point, but she decides it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters more to her than getting back to her fucking bed. Nothing.

Several moments later she wordlessly a delivers the almond milk latte to the customer as quickly as she possibly can, and a small amount of the beverage sputters out of the drinking hole onto her fingers and wrist. Once the customer exits the cafe, Max leans against the counter and smashes her brow with her palms, inadvertently wiping some sticky remnant of the drink onto her face. She feels that sickly feeling swirling about in her head, and she quietly groans-but on the outside it isn't clear if it's out of anger, or of exhaustion. Erwin notices, and is amused.

So amused that when Hanji sends him a "running late" message at around 5:50AM, he doesn't care as much as he usually does. He asks if they'd rather meet up after his lecture, to which Hanji immediately texts back a lazy "y" instead of spelling out a fucking 'yes', and from just that, Erwin is certain that they're half-asleep, still in bed, and not even thinking about getting out of it. It's a fucking farce: Hanji isn't 'running late', because they were never going to come in the first place. On any other day, this would have made him furious because he has nothing better to be bothered about. But today, because his favorite, aloof barista is pissed off, it doesn't.

He's an honest sadist. His kind are far and few-makes him a little special. It's a shame for his students' sakes, really.

Max approaches him and asks if he wants the free soy latte, but she's not expecting anything. Erwin comes off as a guy who won't take handouts or might think coffee with milk isn't real coffee, after all.

"I appreciate the offer, but no thank you," he says, and pretends to continue looking over his lecture material even though he memorized it 5 years ago. He doesn't know why he refuses, because he'd be happy to have it. Maybe he's just trying to piss her off just a teensie bit more _. _

She thinks bitterly that he must be a soyboy, but then notices her own fowl attitude. Erwin is not a soyboy. Who even is a soyboy. What the hell is a soyboy. She smiles a small smile to herself, mutters "whatever," and returns to the counter. Then, she wonders if _she's _a soyboy. No one is lining up at the register, so she looks it up on her phone and reads several of the first articles: she would be happy calling herself a soyboy, it turns out. And it doesn't seem like Erwin fits the description of a soyboy, but he might not be offended to be called a soyboy.

Whatever.

Max quickly downs the rejected latte. She has a little bit of soymilk foam on her upper lip that she delicately dabs off with her sleeve while being mindful of her already-slightly-smeared and dangerously bold lipstick. This is already her third caffeinated beverage this morning, so it's maybe her 6th shot of espresso, but it's sure to do absolutely nothing to her. Maybe, _and that's a hard maybe_, she'll get sweaty. But it couldn't possibly do anything else: it definitely won't wake her up. Definitely not now. But it's fine.

Max doesn't care.

Also, she doesn't really care about this, but she can't figure out why her forehead is sticky.

At 5:56 AM, Max fills a mug with hot water and lets it cool for thirty seconds. Meanwhile, she deposits a generous scoop of black tea leaves into a fresh, empty teabag. Once the water is just the right temperature, the teabag is submerged and pushed it to the bottom of the mug using a little too much force. Some water splashes out onto the counter. Max tosses the stirring stick into the garbage.

Everything smells like fucking almondmilk.

At 6:00 AM, Levi struts in front of the cafe. He turns the door handle, pushes the door open quietly, beelines to the counter without acknowledging Erwin, produces a dollar and seventy five cents from his jacket pocket, and then mutters "12 Oz breakfast tea for here" just as Max is tossing out the spent teabag and handing him the mug of fresh, perfectly steeped breakfast tea.

They stand in silence.

This happens most mornings.

"How many minutes did you let it steep?" Levi finally asks. He looks skeptically into the mug in his hands.

"Three minutes," she grumbles. "I know how to make your fucking tea. Quit asking, it's patronizing. The wifi password is the same as yesterday." Max smears the spilled water off of the counter with the side of her hand, and then flacidly wipes her hand off on her apron like a savage_ . _

That response, however, doesn't happen most mornings. "Did you poison it?" Levi looks at her blankly.

She doesn't answer immediately. She likes to make people squirm with eye contact and silence, and she'll wait especially long before responding to Levi because he never, ever squirms. One day, though, she hopes he will. "No but I can spit in it if you'd like that."

Levi wonders who the fuck she thinks she is.

In the few years he's been acquainted with Max, she has only ever been as rude to him as he is to anyone on one other occasion: it was because he told her, one morning, that this place was a slum when it, straight up, wasn't. She scolded him, that day, that she was sure the cafe would be thrilled to hire his cleaning services since he was _so kind to offer,_ and then tossed a damp rag that smelled like the floor at him. After throwing said rag back at her face, he said her lipstick reminded him of bathroom mold, went about the morning as usual except he ignored her, and then he forwent gracing the cafe with his sweet, sweet presence for the next two mornings. She continued making his tea as usual for both of those mornings, and each time he didn't show up she took it herself. Finally, on the third morning, Levi came back. Upon arrival, he threw the door open and caused the little bell above the door to ring so violently and so annoyingly that Max was compelled to remove it shortly thereafter. Levi walked calmly to the counter, as usual he produced the exact change from his coat pocket, ordered his stupid tea, and, as usual, she already had it prepped for him by the time he arrived at the register. Levi was initially offended, but then was unexpectedly taken by admiration. He didn't snap when she spilled some of his tea across the counter-he didn't even acknowledge it. But he did compliment her lipstick, which was the same deep orange she had been wearing the morning of the incident. He may never admit this, but he had been more glad than usual to see her that morning-sometimes he can't help thinking her name is actually 'tea brat' instead of 'Max.'

They've been friends ever since. Though they only really see each other in the cafe... and all they do is flirt openly and aggressively. But that doesn't matter: they spend a lot of time around each other, which is more than can be said about most of their other friends.

Today, her lipstick is a dark red-like the interior of a dark cherry. Now Levi stares for just a moment. She can furrow her brow tighter than anyone he's ever seen. And why is her hair so fucked up. Also she's way too tall. She's like a fucking flagpole, and the combination with her shitty Einstein haircut makes her look like a stupid Truffula tree.

The fact that Levi is glaring at her does not escape Max. She's busying herself at the counter doing fuckall but once she is aware that Levi is lingering, she looks up to meet his gaze. He looks the same as usual: bothered. Hot. Mostly annoyed. His cute little vertical labret piercing emphasizes the slightly upturned arc his lips make when they're pursed together. If she weren't feeling so sleepy and pissed off she would have winked at him.

"Tch. Disgusting," he mumbles. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the latrine." Max pinches her nose in disgust at his word choice.

"Didn't get to. Haven't slept," she admits. Feeling a little more self aware about her attitude, she adds "I would apologize for the rudeness, but considering that poop-smeared insult you just slammed me with, I won't."

"Hm." He takes a sip of the tea while looking at her like he's already forgotten what she just said. He notices that the tea has cooled to a perfect drinking temperature, and he's impressed. "This is good tea. If you ever spit in good tea I'll kill you."

"Sure," Max shrugs. "I don't care." Max runs her hand through her fucked up hair making it stick out in seven more directions, and the feeling of her fingers massaging her scalp makes her eyes close. She resists the urge to sigh, and finds it hard to muster the strength to open her eyes again. "You'd only be shooting yourself in the foot."

It's not an inaccurate assesment. She is, after all, a tea brat. Before he leaves the register, he throws an extra dollar into the tip jar. Then, Levi quietly joins Erwin at the booth across from the espresso bar.

Erwin pushes a stack of papers towards him.

"...Do you ever even consider grading anything?" Levi begins looking over the first paper. "You clearly couldn't care less about these students." He pops the cap off of a red marker and begins scrawling messily all over the submission. "Why do you even teach… Have you considered quitting? You're ineffective-wasting their shitty money."

Erwin regards Levi sternly, and then resumes 'reviewing his lecture' (he's eavesdropping on the elderly women conversing behind the espresso bar). Erwin knows Levi hates grading, and does a less than perfect job at it when it comes down to it, but professors at research institutions aren't paid to teach, it turns out. They simply do not have funds to hire extra help.

"If I stopped doing all of this busywork maybe you'd learn to be less codependent and do your own fucking job that pays you three times as much as my fucking job."

"I'd fire you." Erwin threatens casually.

After a couple of minutes, Levi finishes grading the first paper. He snatches the next one off the top of the pile and starts violently marking it up. "If you think that would be best, I'll trust your judgement." He circles a particularly rough sentence three times and scribbles three question marks each larger than the previous. The red marker ink is visible through the next page-it's really a wonder why he doesn't switch to red ballpoint. "Would you prefer I quit now? I can go ask Pixis for funding, he has way more money than you do. People like his work more than yours." At the top of the paper, he writes '_ this is garbage. email me so we can set up a time to work through this. -L'. _

Erwin is silent.

"Or I'll join Mike's new lab. He's looking for researchers."

"Both are good options." Erwin finally concedes, not taking his eyes from his laptop's screen. "Let me know if you need any letters of recommendation."

Levi scoffs. "I'll keep you updated."

Across the cafe, Max is catching bits and pieces of their conversation, but is too torqued off of fatigue to think much of it. She's taken classes with each of the aforementioned faculty members, including Erwin (he teaches intro anthropology and history of science among other things, which are fairly large classes), and hearing about them in this context makes a smile _almost _threaten at her lips, but not really. It's too much of a task to keep her eyes open, so smiling is out of the question. She reminisces on her time spent in school, and for a brief moment she wonders what it would be like to go back. At this point, standing here in this dimly lit, dumpy cafe while running on fumes and feeling like she's living a mild fever dream, the grass is greener everywhere she looks. Anything is better than what she's doing now, even, daresay, _going back to school. _

But before those thoughts could plummet into a deep dark hole, Max reels herself back. It's easy to think, in hindsight, that school is cute and fun and you get to be around so many other smart people who are all passionate and there to learn alongside you-and all of this _can be _true, but academia can also be a dangerous breeding ground for depression and anxiety. Max has decided she needs to avoid depressive places for the time being, because she struggles enough already. Also, she has no money to pay the ridiculous tuition. Well, sort of.

Whatever. Fuck it.

Anyways, aside from it being convenient for her to work morning shifts, she also very much enjoys the regulars that frequent this cafe. If not for them, she would have quit this thankless, tiring, brain-dead job as soon as she graduated-but Erwin and Levi are two people in particular that make this morning worth it even when she hasn't slept.

Erwin is like a morning sitcom on his own. He's a professor and yet he hasn't ever graded a single god damn paper in the entire time he's been coming to the cafe: he just sits there, scrolls on his computer when he thinks people are watching him, and then observes everyone in the cafe like an undercover cop until he finally leaves. It's like he's in a crime drama, and he's an investigative spy lingering in the back with a large, inconspicuous newspaper covering his face. Sometimes he'll take notes-but on what? Probably people in the cafe, Max thinks. Max is certain that he spends most of the morning watching other people go about their routines because he's tired of his own, doesn't have hobbies to fall back on, and doesn't like doing his work as much as he makes it look. She has a few ideas about why he is the way he is: one is that he's lonely and has to come up with shitty ways to waste his time when he's not working; another is that he's a narcissist, but she doesn't like that one, because she thinks he's more self aware than that… the last idea is that he's just straight up a weirdo. She likes this last idea, because it oversimplifies him-which, for some reason, she thinks suits him well.

Levi is his perfect counterpart. He probably only comes to the cafe because he finds comfort in spending time with Erwin, and maybe deep down appreciates the odd sort of friendship he has with Max. If not friendship, then the routine: it seems like he needs to have a routine which must include drinking black tea every morning, or else the entire bay might go up in flames without even the suggestion of an earthquake, a lamp, or a cow. Levi is unapologetically blunt, often rude, mean but in an exciting way, aggressively flirty, seems like he could do a backflip, is most likely a softie which foils Erwin's sadism nicely, and _never ever takes chamomile teas or coffee_.

Erwin and Levi naturally make a great sitcom pair.

Levi comes up for another cup of breakfast tea after some time-but instead of having her deliver it to him like he sometimes does, he waits at the espresso bar. Max wonders if in doing this, he's stalling from doing work.

"How about earl grey instead?" she asks, over her shoulder.

"Is there suddenly no more regular black tea?"

"It's not that." Is all she says for a moment. "It's just..._ boring _."

"Tch." His head tilts to the side. "If it's that cream of earl grey bullshit, no. Don't think about it." He's definitely stalling from doing his work-he never obliges suggestions like this.

"Well. Bummer. That's the only one we have," she lies.

"Make the breakfast tea." Levi shifts his weight to his left hip and squares his shoulders assertively, but she doesn't see it.

"Hmm... I could make you some darjeeling..." She doesn't turn around to look at him-maybe to piss him off more. She's entered the emotionally manipulative stage of exhaustion and now wants to make other people pissed off for no reason other than to stir madness. Maybe she'd wake up if only someone punched her.

She thinks Levi could be the type who might punch her if she pushes him hard enough.

"Don't," Levi says.

Alas, she doesn't push any harder. She would feel terrible if she made anyone that mad, so she makes him earl grey-_ regular _earl grey tea.

She hands it to him, and then immediately leans with her whole bodyweight against the counter and holds her head up with her hand. Her head feels… light, and a little numb. Everything is sort of vibrating around her. _Fuck, _she thinks, _what the hell? _ She pinches her nose hard, pushing her glasses up the bridge and shakes her head. Her skin is partially numbed, so she pinches harder. The pressure feels nice, but no matter how hard she pinches it doesn't hurt. The air she breathes suddenly seems inconsequential. The world around her has turned into VR game. _This isn't real. _

He smells the tea and his expression softens slightly. He even thanks her. Levi regards her before he goes back to his table and almost pities the look on her face. Then he decides it's her fault for staying up all night like an idiot, and he goes back to his table where he belongs.

Max doesn't realize it quite yet, but she's starting to dissociate. Ever since Max was small, she has suffered from a disorder that makes her feel like she's living in a dream every so often-one of those times is about to be right now. The episodes vary in intensity depending on the circumstance and depending on her mental state, and since this episode is likely only triggered by acute fatigue, it'll probably be short-lived. But on a serious note, the disorder can be-and has been-debilitating and borderline life-threatening. Essentially what happens is this: Max feels like she becomes disconnected from her physical person, and she loses her sense of self and sometimes her sense of self preservation. It's like she's an empty sack. She doesn't care about anything, because nothing feels real to her. When she's stable, she realizes how fucked up it is to not care about anything... but she can't help it when she's in the thick of an episode: it's how she experiences depression, and how she copes with trauma. For the most part, though, it's not too bad-it's manageable for her now. She's gotten pretty good at communicating about it, and she has good people around her who will help her when she asks for help.

Her coworker Eld comes in at 7:30 AM, enabling Max to take a break in the back, which she desperately needs. She wobbles into the back room and sits her ass down on an overly stuffed couch at the far end of the room, and then she stares at the wall. Several years ago, Max brought a guitar to the cafe in case someone wanted an accompaniment during an open night, or for her own self in case she was in need of a music break. Today, she stares at the guitar in a sort of stupor... her mind regresses to a blue screen. She remembers the song she had been working on, but instead of feeling discouraged, she says out loud "Whatever. It's a fucking song."

This mental state has its perks.

When she returns from her break, Erwin has already departed. Usually she makes him a cup to go, but whatever. Levi sits in the same spot, scrolling some obscure subreddit. His headphones are on and his fingers are tapping along to an indistinguishable rhythm. He has childishly relocated the ungraded papers to the floor, and rests his right foot atop the pile like a premature victory taunt.

At around 7:45 AM, the cafe starts getting busy, and Max is over it. Everything. She's over it all.

Levi leaves at 8 AM-he's graded a grand total of only 7 papers in the past two hours… which is progress to say the least, but it's shit progress to be frank. He exits Titan Roasters as the skies are beginning to turn a glum grey color with his hands in his jacket pockets and his hood up.

Four hours later, Max leaves. By the time she clocks out, she's fucked up four more orders because she stopped caring about being a good employee, has almost lost her balance several times because she's playing a game in her head that the black kitchen tiles are lava (most of the tiles are black), and has begun broaching crude conversational games with her coworker Eld such as 'fuck marry kill' to prevent herself from sleeping at the register. Eld doesn't shit talk-honestly he almost never says anything, but he's sort of down to oblige her this morning and somewhere deep down, Max is grateful. This is how she behaves in order to mask her internal turmoil when she can't just up and leave on an impromptu walk or go to bed-both of which are her preferred ways of getting through these dissociative dreams. Eld is mostly oblivious to her odd behavior and thinks she's just being funny, but he's tired of hearing her complain about how tired she is. At a certain point he insists that Max goes home. Early.

At this point, a mellow rainstorm has nuzzled its way into Berkeley, and Max is standing outside on the sidewalk looking straight up into oncoming rain. It takes her all the way back to when she was innocently showering this morning. Seems like it was so long ago now. That water had been so warm and so cozy. Max thinks to herself that there is nothing she wouldn't do to be that cozy right now; she suddenly yearns for her bed again, so strongly that her chest started to tighten. Thank god. It feels like tears are cascading down her cheeks, but it's just the rain, because Max is too drained to cry. Pedestrians are pushing around her with their rainshells on and their umbrellas up, and the occasional bicyclist screaming by on the road has a racer stripe up their back. She deliberates before calling Jasper, because she is _this close _to saying fuck it and biking-any other day, the rain wouldn't have mattered to her, but today is a special day because she wants to be cozy immediately, and she doesn't want to get soaking wet on the ride home. Also, she doesn't know if she'd even _make it _home. Over the course of several hours, she's become aware of the state of her own internal affairs, and has consequently developed a little voice of reason in the back of her head telling her to only follow through with things that neurotypical Max might. In this moment, neurotypical Massimilana would call her housemate and good friend Jasper and ask for a ride.

So she calls Jasper, but Jasper doesn't pick up.

Next she calls Petra who also doesn't pick up.

As Max's hair starts to soak through, she begins to strongly reconsider the ill-advised bike option. Before she retrieves her bike from the back room, however, she remembers that she can call a lyft. But! Just as she gets the app open, she gets a call from Jasper.

"Jasper? Hey." Her brain runs out of juice, she can't remember what she wanted from him suddenly. "Uh... What are you doing?"

There's some rustling on the other side of the line, and she hears Jasper finish a yawn. "Hey Messi, sup?"

"Hey... could you be down to pick me up from work?" Max can't hold back a yawn all of a sudden. "I stayed up all night... I thought it was Monday... I've been up since yesterday and anyways could you help me… I'm like... Uh." She wraps her free arm around her torso and shuts her eyes tightly, but she doesn't feel any differently. Really, she feels the same, except now the videogame is stalling on a loading screen. "I'm all hazy." Jasper will understand what she means.

She hears a smaller muffled voice next to Jasper speak up, but she can't understand what the other person is saying. She sways herself back and forth on the balls of her feet, and notices her shoulders are damp at this point, but doesn't care to stand under the awning. Her mind is completely occupied by the buzzing in her head and the way everything around her seems to be vibrating. Her free hand reaches out to catch some rain and the way the water splashes about makes her wonder if it's synthetic.

"Aww are you sweepy? Yeah I can come get you, I'm glad you called. I'll head over in a minute."

"See you soon." She's about to hang up, but she remembers she needs to thank him. Max begrudgingly saunters underneath the awning of the cafe after a weird dude walking by her offers his umbrella. She's not stupid, after all, she just feels empty.

She later learns that she interrupted Jasper and his partner 'waking up'-and Jasper initially wasn't even going to call her back, but was ultimately persuaded by Hanji, his partner who was in bed next to him, to give Max a ride.

Needless to say, when Max finally gets home, she hits her bed hard and doesn't wake up for 12 undisturbed hours.


	2. Routine (Titan) Roast

Thursday:

It's a normal-ass day. Max is more or less back to her calm, perhaps slightly rude and aloof self, making her rude customers their overly manicured and sickeningly sweetened morning beverages. There's no hint of her strange, deadened behavior today, almost as if yesterday was a dream.

Not to confuse-yesterday was real.

Anyways.

Levi and Erwin sit in silence at Titan Roasters like an old married couple at a diner, but can you fault them? What on earth could they talk about day in and day out? They're very different conversationalists. Also, Erwin doesn't think Levi wouldn't be interested in hearing about the woman who comes in every Tuesday and Thursday morning at around 5:40 AM who is pretty much always covered head to toe in cat hair and struggling through a nasty divorce. She talks about it with Max many mornings for whatever reason and Erwin can't stop himself from eavesdropping. Coincidentally it's happening right the fuck now: the lady, Carla is her name, is talking to Max about her to-be-ex-husband and it's literally all he's thinking about.

Carla is in the process of becoming un-married to an idiot doctor with a suspicious family history that Erwin has, you guessed it, already looked into: he too can confirm that the guy is stupid suspicious. The husband is a doctor-unclear what specialty, but medical-and many of his past patients are convicted murderers. It's truly unsettling. One was even a serial killer. The asshole doc and Carla have one son and a recently adopted daughter together: the unfortunate son is in high school and has anger management issues (he's already totalled two cars and he's only 15); and the daughter is for the most part pretty under the radar. Erwin thinks she's around the same age as the son, but what does Erwin know?

Carla typically stays for about a half hour, which overlaps slightly with Levi's schedule, and then leaves the cafe, often with two beverages in hand (but Erwin thinks they're definitely both for herself). Erwin likes her because she does people's taxes, which he thinks is boring, and she often wears a wrist brace, which he thinks nothing of, but he admires her predictability.

Sometimes, he also admires how predictable _he _is, but not too often. Mostly, he tries not to think about it, because he gets self conscious about all the subconscious snooping he does. He knows Max is onto him, but he's not sure who else is aside from the obvious Captain Cranky.

Speaking of whom, Grouchy Marx is sitting across the table, still smashing away at those dreadful submissions. He keeps looking up every other minute or so in attempt to force eye contact, but Erwin isn't taking the bait... To be more precise, he's outright avoiding eye contact because he's not in the mood to get roasted right now. And to avoid confrontation, Erwin has chosen to pretend to scrolling around on his laptop while memorizing every word coming out of Carla's mouth. _Don't acknowledge Levi. Keep your eyes down. _

In his defense, all this fuckery _does _takes a degree of strategy: in particular, a practiced and unwavering resting bitch face. It's such a strong bitch face that he can't shake it even when he's sleeping, but how else could he have gotten this far in his academic career? Universities are always suckers for tall, blonde men with bitch faces and demanding voices.

Out of the corner of his eye Erwin catches Max covertly applying a fresh coat of lipstick using her reflection in the stainless steel espresso machine, but then he notices Levi, who is staring blankly at him from across the table. He can't hide now, so he confronts Levi head on with a bitch face so strong that it would have made a student wet themself.

They hold a staring contest for several seconds before Erwin caves and resumes pretending to review his lecture.

The interaction almost makes Levi smile.

Instead, Levi slaps a freshly graded paper down onto the table, and pushes it towards Erwin. This one looks like it's literally been submerged in a bucket of red paint. Fantastic, Erwin thinks. _This is what he pays Levi for _. The bloodied remains enrapture Erwin so much that he doesn't read a god damn thing on the page before trying to push it back to Levi, but at least he's smiling now.

"Oi." Levi grunts. They make eye contact. Levi's own bitch face is loudly conveying 'read it, you fucker' so Erwin picks the paper back up and loses his smug smile. _Buzzkill. _As Erwin tries to make sense of the assignment-truthfully he doesn't remember what he even asked of his students this past week-Levi sits back and finishes this morning's second cup of tea.

"I just want to put something in perspective," Levi sips his tea. "It's week ten... and this shitstorm of a paper very well represents of a shit-ton of others that I've already graded." Levi quips. "It's a bloodbath; something is wrong." He places his mug onto the table, and leans forward slightly. "And it isn't them."

"This is how they learn. If they put in the time they should be able to do it." Erwin frowns unemotively while reading a little bit of this student's work. It's not poorly written, he notices, it's just... wrong. He can feel the scrutiny radiating off of his fellow researcher from across the table, and expects what's coming at him next:

"Erwin…" Levi starts, he leans back in his chair and gets ready for his monologue. "You're an okay lecturer and an above average researcher, so what the fuck are you thinking asking entry-level undergrads to understand higher level isotope decay." This sort of thing gets Levi particularly animated, having piles of student loan payments looming over his future as well as a distaste for an abuse of the educational system at larger universities. Erwin isn't sensitive to it, nor does he try to be, so Levi tries to frame his argument in a way that Erwin might listen better: "These brats are trying to fulfill a GE, not graduate with a BS in chemistry; and this class is supposed to introduce basics, not smother them." He sighs. "You don't even cover this in your lectures... Fucks sake. Really, you're too old to be doing this. It's fucking embarassing." And with that so eloquently put, Levi hops off of his soapbox and opens up space for a response.

He's met with silence, which wasn't what he had expected.

Suddenly, Erwin's eyes grow wide, and he lowers the 'shitstorm' of a paper to the table. "Can you show me the homework assignment?"

Levi procures the assignment instructions from the bottom of the massive pile of blood-soaked papers. Even it has red ink on it, and the red marker hasn't even touched it. Erwin smiles, again.

They look at it together.

"Yeah," Erwin says. "I wrote this for my upper division class."

Saying that Levi is disappointed would be putting it lightly. He has absolutely nothing to say.

"Finish grading them." Erwin adds. He starts scrolling on his computer again, in effort to avoid Levi's glare.

"No." On cue, Levi stands up with his empty mug and walks over to the register where he's hoping to get a nice break with some pleasant, day-to-day, aggressive-flirting-with-Max time. "Oi Max. Get me an earl grey." He places the mug on the counter at the register.

"Sure," Max says, too occupied to admire his choice this morning. She's busy steaming milk for a cappuccino at the moment, so he lingers. He could just stand there and stare like usual, or he could tear her to shreds with confrontational one-liners and watch her eyes glimmer.

"Is Max short for anything?"

"Massimiliana," she obliges. He wasn't expecting her to, for some reason. He was anticipating one of her silly quips like it's 'an acronym,' or 'the beginning of a haiku.'

"Ah." He doesn't even try to say it back to her. "A mouthful... What's the etymology?"

"_Thanks _," she mutters under her breath. "At least I'm not sweatshop denim." She's already used that insult several times this past month. It's getting old. "It's Italian."

"Do you even think before smearing this shit on me? Or does it all just fly out uncensored?" Levi's mouth twitches slightly, as if he were smirking. _Keep going._ "Is your whole name a mess?"

Max thinks he must be in a mood. She continues steaming the milk, but briefly glances at him. He's glaring at her. _He's totally in a mood. Goodie. _The frother makes a terrible high pitched sound, and everything smells like warm milkfat. It's making her face feel sticky and warm. Or is she just blushing. Who knows.

"Hm..." She bites her lower lip, holding back a smile, and continues steaming the milk. "So you want a tea... is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Tell me your name."

"Just ask Erwin." Max smarms.

Silence makes people talk, so Levi waits.

And when too much time has passed and Levi still hasn't said anything, she caves: "Massimiliana Messina. That's my whole name."

"Massimilana Messina..." He looks her up and down: her hair looks like it went through a second wind turbine after yesterday, one of her sleeves is half cuffed, and her glasses are crooked and falling down the bridge of her nose. "You have the name of a comic book character."

Her eyes glimmer despite his mocking her. "What was that tea you wanted?"

"Earl grey."

She nods slowly. "For the record I wouldn't blink twice if you started going by Earl Grey. You're a grumpy shithead."

"Oh good, you're thinking outside the box now-I thought I'd never be anything to you other than sweatshop denim." He whistles.

"Whatever. Anything else you want to say at me before I make your stupid tea, Earl?"

Levi resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he does want to say more at her: "No." Several seconds go by. It's a matter of waiting for the right moment, however. He has to make this next statement flow into the conversation so that she doesn't immediately catch on to the lie he's about to tell. He came up here to not only order tea and get a rise out of Max, but also get a rise out of Erwin.

"I just love it when you stand there all pouty and watch me make someone else's fancy coffee." She sighs. Max is tapping her fingers against the countertop with a fancy sort of rythm. She looks sidelong at him and winks.

Levi folds his arms in front of his chest. The tapping against the countertop is getting faster, more elaborate, and a little louder. He wonders if him standing here is making her feel uncomfortable.

"That blond buffoon and I were wondering if you were job searching. We are looking for a brat to take over some of the work I do, who preferably also has a background in geochronology. You'd be dating the binding material in the hominid-conglomerates-so your lab experience is ideal." Levi makes a point to glance over his shoulder at said blond buffoon.

She's dumping the steamed milk over what he assumes is an espresso in a to-go cup. He's hasn't ever noticed because he doesn't order anything but tea, but it looks like Max refuses to make latte art judging by the way the milk almost splashes right back into her face. It's way too much force than what you'd use if the goal was to create a frilly little design. For some reason, he had wrongfully assumed that she, like every other barista motherfucker in this stupid town, would _of course _do latte art. Every fucking cafe in this area seems to have at least four employees who compete over who pours the best latte-dick and they all call themselves 'coffee artists' like cocky slumlords. So, for some reason, watching Max flagrantly dump milk into what could have been an over-the-top, hipster cappufrappespresso drink makes him feel a little better about coming to this place.

"Cappuccino for Bob," she calls out, and plops the drink onto the pick-up counter. Then, she responds to Levi: "I have a job."

"I've seen the work you did with Hanji," Levi pointedly glances at Erwin who is definitely listening to every word going on in this exchange. "You're good." Out of the corner of his eye he sees said leaning tower of asshole shaking his head slightly. In just the nick of time he looks back to see Max furrowing her brow at him. Good. She took the bait. Let's go.

Honestly though, she always takes the bait-she can't help herself, and it's something Levi has grown to admire about her.

"What the…" Max turns around and cuts across the kitchen to the register so that she can talk to Levi face to face. "I'm second author on those papers: you already knew my name." She raises her eyebrows.

When had he leaned over the countertop? Max is suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is to her.

"_ I wanted to hear you to say it _." He says, not at all under his breath.

The sentence echoes around in Max's head, and she's not sure she heard him correctly. Her eyes grow twice their regular size. Her heart beats wildly in her chest and suddenly she can't tell if she's crushing on him or simply wanting to crush him. All she can muster is: "_ Oh _?"

Levi narrows his eyes at the off-center furrow between her eyebrows. He sees her pupils dilate, and her cheeks flush slightly.

"Want me to say it _again _?" she adds, it came out sort of like a threat. She leans until she's almost his height. He's a foot away from her-close enough for her to notice a characteristic tightening of the jaw and slight purse of the lips. He looks like he might want to kick her feet out from underneath her and pin her to the floor.

But he doesn't. He just stares at her.

She redirects: "Are you seriously offering me a job?"

"Depends on your answer." They maintain eye contact.

Levi breaks first. He steals another glance at Erwin, who is furiously typing away on his computer. Levi can't help feeling a little smug.

"The fuck," Max says, and finally takes his mug from the counter. She again follows his not so clandestine gaze to Erwin. "Erwin would've already asked me..." Max, catching Erwin's grimace, catches on, "Ah... I see. You're finally quitting... Does that mean I won't be making your tea any more?" She gives Levi one last once-over before turning away to prep his tea. "That would make me cry." Her eyes lingered on his mouth. Levi noticed. She rinses the mug out a couple of times before refilling it with fresh, hot water from the dispenser near the industrial-sized carafes.

"Tch..." he fists his hands into his pockets, and he licks the upper ball of his vertical labret piercing before covertly nipping his lower lip once her back is turned.

They're not fools: they're conscious of the game they're playing. For Levi, the forwardness is probably why he likes flirting with her: he admires that particular quality in her, and in general he also appreciates it when people have situational and self awareness. This shouldn't come as a surprise but his least favorite kind of person is a cocky slumlord who makes thoughtless assumptions and doesn't listen to anyone. People with dangerous anger management issues also make him mad, but that's not really relevant at the moment. Besides Max makes assumptions every fucking morning when she gives him his first cup of tea, and she isn't immune to a tempestuous attitude, but he sort of likes that about her.

We're all a little hypocritical sometimes.

Whatever.

He remains at the register, he even puts his hand on the counter and leans forward to watch her make the tea: first, she kneels to retrieve a jar of earl grey on a lower shelf across the kitchen, and then she sets it gently on the countertop. The jar is about the size of her head, and about a quarter of the way full of sweet, curly black tea leaves. There's a perfectly sized scooping spoon already in the jar, and she uses it to shovel a couple tablespoons of loose earl grey into an empty tea bag. Max pinches the open end of the bag with her middle finger and thumb, and gently shakes side to side settling the loose tea leaves into a nice, compact bundle at the bottom of the tea bag. To tie it off she loops the empty end of the mesh bag around her index finger and fastens a granny knot two-thirds of the way up the bag. She pushes it down below the surface of the hot water and watches for a moment as the first golden swirls bloom from the soaking leaves. The white ceramic enamel is a perfect backdrop to see the caramel colors twirl about.

"Did you want to take the teabag out yourself?" she brings the mug over to the register. Max checks the analog clock above the exit. She has to adjust her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and in the process she makes a silly sort of expression: her mouth forms a u-shape, her nostrils flare slightly, and her eyebrows go up. The clock reads approximately 7:32. Levi's expression, on the other hand, remains completely inscrutable. He stares at her in a way that makes her think he's either completely indifferent to her, or he's about to reach across the counter and yank her into either a one-sided fist-fight or kiss her.

"That's your job," he replies.

"_ Bitch… _" Max murmurs, but the glimmer in her eye remains.

They stand in a comfortable silence for three minutes as they both wait for his stupid tea to steep-Max busies herself at the register doing who-knows-what, and Levi taps his fingers against the countertop-it's labradorite. He never noticed until just now. Cute. They don't say a thing-and they don't need to. Thank god. Over time, the space between them fills with the citrusy, sweet aroma of bergamot.

Three minutes go by. Max quickly trashes the teabag and nudges the mug towards him.

He thanks her again, and she winks at him. It's something he's seen her do many times at many people, so he doesn't think she means much by it. She usually doesn't mean much by it...

Hm.

Levi can't tell if she meant anything by it this time, but he decides not to dwell. It's whatever. They just flirt, it's been like this for years. He already has plenty of fuckbuddies that he doesn't hit up enough. Also he and Max are perfectly good friends already-no need to change that.

Levi returns to Erwin's table with his covetable cup of tea. He holds the mug at the rim with his fingertips as he opens his laptop and scrolls around to a news subreddit. His plan is to finish this cup off and then bolt because there's absolutely nothing for him to work on now aside from finish this glorius fucking tea. He looks over his shoulder at Max, for no particular reason, and she's leaning against the counter by the espresso maker scrolling around on her phone. Just as Levi is looking away from her, she turns her phone off and glances at him. Eye contact was made. It lasted less than a second.

He feels her eyes burning into him as he reads his computer screen and pretends that what ju st happened wasn't singed with sexual tension, and he doesn't look back at her. Why? To subtly lead her on. It's a game. It's fun. It's what they do.

Levi's thoughts are interrupted from his innocent flirting game when Erwin says:

"I don't have time to do it. If you do it, I'll give you a bonus.

* * *

Levi doesn't just work for Erwin as an underpaid and overworked researcher-he wouldn't be able to keep any money if he didn't have other sources of income, after all. When he arrives at the dance studio that afternoon, his students are already lined up against the wall next to the check-in desk, and are as quiet as death. There's a young high school student working the desk, and she barely looks up from her phone when Levi enters, but she pushes his time sheet across the table for him to sign. She's consistently as disinterested-looking as Levi, and always wears a red scarf no matter what time of the year it is.

For some reason Levi can't for the life of him ever remember her name.

Midge, Misty, Mimi...

He looks at her, and she continues scrolling on her phone. He almost asks for her name, but instead signs the timesheet quickly and greets his brats.

It's something like… Miki.

"Afternoon," he would call them brats to their faces, but he's had several parents complain about that.

Most of the kids murmur a greeting, but they aren't there to talk. At this point, the only kids who keep coming back to his classes are either kids with parents who push them too hard, or kids that push themselves too hard-and he admires both genres in different ways. The greatest thing about them is that they are determined to get whipped into shape so he doesn't have to tell them to do things more than once. This particular group studies intermediate level hip hop, consists of mostly 14 to 15 years olds, only one of them is shorter than him, and they're here to learn. They're all very serious.

"You're warming up with a run," Levi explains as he struts casually across the floor to his locked cabinet. "Get your running shoes." You'd think that running would be out of the question in a dance class, but not in Levi's dance class.

They scatter. Levi messes with the combination lock and then opens his cabinet. He keeps an extra pair of running shoes here for times like these. Since he has to supervise, he may as well run with them. Or in front of them. Not that they'll be able to keep up, but they'll try to.

He teaches a variety of dance styles to a variety of people, but he's not a cooperative instructor, and he'd much rather not be a teacher in general. Quitting has been considered several times, but he ultimately doesn't quit because of his students: some of them love this, and need this. Besides, dancing was important to him when he was growing up too. Can't say he doesn't understand. It doesn't happen every session, but the kids will sometimes get these ridiculous smiles on their faces after they've landed a routine, or after they've survived a particularly hard workout. He appreciates it, and even though he infrequently praises them for the work they put into the art, he's impressed with them often.

The only problem is that only select types of students appreciate his unconventional teaching styles, and even more select dance studios will put up with his insubordinate attitude, so he's only been able to continue teaching at his uncle's dance studio in north Berkeley. He also can't teach too many classes because there's a shortage of people who are willing to even try what he tells them to do.

Who knows why. Maybe it's his tone.

There's no one signed up to use the studio after his class ends, so he stays for another hour or so doing his own routines. It's mostly gymnastics-he's not in an expressive sort of dancing mood today, and he's looking at it more like a workout.

It's a normal-ass day.

* * *

"This is fucking good." Jasper shakes his head on beat. "It's crazy what the drum line added.

Max hums. The music is too loud to make conversation. Also, her jaw hurts so she doesn't want to talk. Unexpectedly, Max is grateful that she was too out of it on Wednesday to remember to delete that 'shitstorm' of a song after work. The awareness gives Max yet another reason to not stay up all night ever again-will she follow through? Stay tuned. It honestly doesn't sound so bad now that it's blaring over her speakers. Really doesn't. Surprisingly, it sounds good. It's not a country-pop tune at all but a poly-rythmic, groovy little diddy. She's not in the mood to dance right now, but if she was in the mood, this would be a perfect piece.

"Fuuuuck, Petra, those vocals are so smooth." Nanaba draws out the 'oo' in smooth for added effect. "This was a good, good sesh," She coos. She and Petra sway about in the middle of the room with their eyes closed until the track is over.

"Hell yeah," is all Max says once it's played through. Then she adds a "cool," and a "not trash," and nods at nothing in particular. Getting up from her stool behind the drumkit and evading the dance party in the middle of her room, she shuts off the sound system. She feels a yawn coming on, and has to refrain from letting her mouth open past a centimeter for fear of lockjaw. Her eyes water a little bit, and she pushes her mouth shut with her hand, but then the yawn is over. "Whew," she exclaims quietly.

Petra sits herself onto the ground with Max's guitar and begins playing a little diddy; Jasper spins himself around on a stool; Nanaba remains standing in the middle of the room-she's looking around with her brow furrowed. No one says anything.

"Uhh… Are we playing today or are we just gonna… I don't know-roll around on the floor?" Nanaba wonders aloud. Usually Max is the one calling the shots but since her face hurts and she was the one who spent all the time mixing the last track, she doesn't feel like it. Nanaba looks at Max pointedly, but she's met with vacant eyes.

Jasper picks up his saxophone. "Well I mean, I'm ready if you fools are."

Petra doesn't verbalize anything, but she begins playing a progression they've been toying with for the past month or so; Jasper starts improvising over her chords; and Nanaba doesn't know what to do because she doesn't have an instrument and she's not someone who writes lyrics, she just comes up with melodies and fun ways to intonate lyrics that are given to her. Jasper and Max are the ones who write the lyrics... Why isn't Max saying anything?

"Mess-you good?" Nanaba nudges her in the shoulder.

"Hm? Yeah." Max affirms.

Nanaba gives her a knowing look.

"Uhh... 's hard to open my mouth. Hurt my jaw." Max holds the side of her face with her hands.

"Your Jaw? What? How?"

Suddenly everyone's listening.

Jasper chuckles. "Whaaaat after the innocent afternoon you had with that cute little ladyfriend?"

Laughter ensues. Any opportunity to tear each other apart is a welcome opportunity. Turns out Max is a particularly easy target today.

"Whatever." Max grumbles, but smiles a little bit. She looks a little smug. "It's no secret. Made her come. You must have heard."

Jasper laughs harder through the saxophone, making it snort a little bit. Even Petra has to cover her mouth to stifle the laughs.

"You can get lockjaw from eating someone out?" Petra snorts out between laughs.

"Max how far can you stick your tongue out?" Nanaba sticks her tongue out.

"Far enough." Max grumbles. She hops away from her stereo and hides behind her drumkit again. "I'm over being targeted for this… Let's Take Five from the top. A'one two three-" she starts playing on the fourth, and starts a fresh count again with her bass and snare as the rest of them continue laughing but readying for the lead in on the next fourth down-beat.

Practice from then on continues as usual.

* * *

Levi considers catching a Bart back to his home in south Berkeley, but decides to walk. It's pleasant enough outside, and the walk is only a half hour at most.

Home is a shitty little 2-bed, 2-bath apartment located just a block from Adeline St in south Berkeley, also just a block from Titan Roasters. The place is a typical Berkeley rental (slightly more upscale than Oakland rentals, but equally as unreliable), and yet Levi still throws over a thousand dollars at it each month. _That's just for rent. _Not including utilities. He has two housemates: long-time friends Farlan and Isabelle, and the two of them are roommates in the double across the hallway. Note: roommates, not partners. They have separate beds.

When he gets home, he removes his shoes, hangs his jacket up on the coatrack, and bolts directly to his room with a brief greeting towards Isabelle who is in the kitchen. She doesn't think twice about it, after all it would be out of character for him to err from his ritualistic cleaning habits post working: Levi heads straight to his room, tosses his sweaty clothes into his hamper (it's hidden in the back of his closet, and has a fitted lid), immediately darts to his bathroom, turns on the fan, and, without waiting for the water warm up even a little bit, he closes the shower door behind him and begins scrubbing himself down with dr. bronner's peppermint scented soap and an abrasive shower cloth. Within thirty seconds, the water is almost scalding his skin, and his mind is going white: there is almost nothing more divine than feeling dirt and grime vaporize from his skin. The cooling burn from the mint is a nice touch.

Sometimes he'll splurge, and he spends an extra couple of minutes stretching while the hot water pummels into him-he does this today, and bends forward away from the water so that a good portion of the high pressure stream is hitting his ass.

And then rushing down his balls.

He lets out a sigh. He's in downward dog and his cock is getting hard. He hasn't fucked anyone in days.

Orienting his feet in line with his legs and pushing his chest towards his knees deepens the stretch. It's bliss-a sweet burn in the back of his thighs and a lengthening in his calves. Water continues pelting him in the ass. After some time, his knees start to tremble very slightly. He slowly stands up, and the change in position redirects the blood rushing from his head straight to his groin. His right hand grasps at the base of his cock, and he absentmindedly pulls up at it slowly. He closes his eyes. By the time his hand slides past the head, his heart is pounding in his ears but all he can feel is the urgent, needy feeling swelling in his abdomen. He cups his balls with his other hand, and pulls up once more before releasing his grip and turning the shower off.

His cock bobs in front of him, but he's not really in the mood to jerk himself off… come to think of it he's rarely in the mood to jerk himself off. It's not as fun when he's by himself…

He grasps his cock again, and tugs at it until it's so full it doesn't even bob in front of him the next time he lets go. It sticks out like an invitation.

His heart pounds in his ears, but the blood rushes away from his head straight to his swollen cock.

He needs his phone.

He props open the door slightly to grab his towel from the rack. Because he's way too concerned about potentially getting water on his floor, he towels himself off in the shower: when water gets on the floor, everything that hasn't been recently mopped away will stick to the bottom of his feet if he steps in it, which would ruin the point of his fucking shower wouldn't it? When he gets out, he confronts his reflection in the mirror. His undercut needs to be trimmed again, but not when it's still wet. That would be a mess. Wet tiny hairs stick to fucking everything.

He wants to fuck someone's brains out. He needs his phone.

So he gets it. It's an old but well-maintained flip phone with the most bare-bones service plan Levi could find. He literally has a limit to how many texts he can send per month-which hasn't been a concept since 2008, and yet here he is. Good thing he keeps his friend group so small. He scrolls around a bit before lifting the glorified walkie-talkie to his ear.

It rings once.

"Hey Levi..." Jack has the voice of a fucking angel, Levi thinks. He's got that effeminate lilt. Levi can easily imagine his pouty, chapstick laden lips pursing into a smirk.

Without beating around the bush, Levi asks "Do you wanna fuck? Right now?" The fuckbuddy at the other end of the line lets out a sigh: it's hot, but be already knows their answer is a 'no.'

"Right now? I'd love to, but I can't."

"If you're interested later, let me know."

"Sure will."

Levi shuts the phone and carries on with his routine. He's not fucking anyone today, most likely, and that's fine. Sort of. He almost considers calling someone else, but doesn't because it's not worth it. Jack will likely call him within a week. Levi can wait. He pours himself a small lick of gin, sits his ass down on the couch in the front of the apartment, and pulls out the homework assignments. Because they're not going to be recorded in the gradebooks, he doesn't include a precise number grade. He just provides feedback, and a general note of what the letter grade may have been. Most of these letter grades are far below passing. It's a massacre, but this time at least he uses a ballpoint instead of a felt tip.

* * *

She's finally alone.

Max sits on the floor with her legs crossed and a book in her hand. She's not reading it at the moment, but she's staring at the pages with her eyes defocused. Her mind whirs about nothing in particular; her head is a cacophony of indistinguishable voices and worldly thrummings too quick and too fleeting to make sense of. In one moment, she's reliving a random excerpt from the day, and in another moment she's reduced to incomprehensible white noise.

A sharp pain in her face initiated by a yawn knocks her back to her senses.

"_ Fuck _." On the floor beside her, she picks up the now-defrosted bag of frozen peas to test its temperature. It had been a useful compress for her sore jaw joint when it was still cold, but she reckons her cold hands would be of better use than the squishy bag of vegetables at this point.

There's no one home, but her door is shut.

Max puts the peas back on the floor, and then the book, and then herself. She slumps down to the ground onto her side, and presses her face against the soft carpet. She stares at her drumkit and wonders what the fuck she's doing with her life, and wonders if Levi was being serious when he offered her that job this morning. She'll have to ask him about it later.

"Whatever," she grumbles.

She doesn't really want to work with Erwin, anyways, she's just tired.

Max closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, "Thank god…" _I'm alone. _

Everyone needs to be alone sometimes, and Max needs to be alone a lot-at least, she thinks she does.

Because it's safe to, she lets herself go. She slows her breathing almost to a dead stop and waits for her heart rate to follow, because it makes her feel like she's so heavy that she could sink into the ground. Her joints become loose; her fingers and toes and thighs and shoulders become as heavy as anvils; and her mind goes absolutely still. For just a moment, everything blurs out: the white noise smears into soft rustling, and the bright images in her head dull to a palatable dark blue.

Nothing matters-not the pain in her face or the soreness behind her eyes.

Max feels nothing, and she loves it.

When she sits back up, she lets out a mouthful of air and looks blankly ahead at her instruments. She stands up, grabs the bag of peas, exits her room, and heads to the kitchen only to throw the bag of mushy green things into the freezer before darting out of her apartment to her car.

When she gets herself buckled in, she finally notices the numb feeling spreading from her chest.

_Hm _.

Where was she going, again?

Instead of turning the key in the ignition and getting the hell out of dodge, Max sits quietly and forces herself to think for a moment. Years ago she promised Jasper and Christa that she'd stop doing stupid things when she dissociates. In turn, they helped her figure out better coping mechanisms such as: calling them, or calling literally anyone, or going home, or _staying _home, or going to sleep, or playing her piano or her drums, or doing literally anything that doesn't involve bolting without saying a word to anyone and getting terribly lost. So, therefore, among the things she promised she'd _not _do is _drive aimlessly away from home _which is _exactly what she was just about to do _.

Max stares at the windshield and thinks about how none of this matters, though, because Jasper isn't here right now; neither is Christa; no one is here. She's alone.

And _then _a little nagging voice in her head reminds her that neurotypical Max would be _furious _about that thought.

_Damn _neurotypical Max.

Max taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She craves nothing more than to just step on the gas and drive far, far away until she's perfectly and utterly lost. She wants to watch the sun and the moon dance about aimlessly in the sky, and feel herself become more and more detached from her own body until _nothing actually matters _and she can live peacefully as a soundless blob in the middle of nowhere.

Instead, she gets out of her car and walks back into her apartment.

Her friends mean a lot ot her, like she must to them. She knows that this selfish, addictive numbness is fleeting, and the pain she'd cause herself and her loved ones if she were to disappear again would not be worth the elusive illusion of freedom she may or may not achieve.

Today, she chooses to clean the house until its spotless.

When she finally checks her phone after hours of neglecting it, she has several messages and three phone calls. Her friends went out for dinner that evening together and she had missed it. Meanwhile she had received two calls from Jasper, and one call from Hanji, who were likely trying to get in touch with her about making those dinner plans. Max frowns unemotively and shrugs.

"Oops."

She tosses her phone onto her bed and strips.

"Whatever."

And then she takes the hottest shower she can bear.

* * *

There's a slight rumble from outside-the pictures on the walls vibrate slightly, and Levi can feel deep basal sounds resonate through the apartment. Forlornly, he looks at his empty glass of gin and wishes he had left a little bit of liquid so that he could watch for ripples. He doesn't move: he's doing a fancy sort of headstand in the center of the living room while contemplating how best to change his disappointing career trajectory.

"Farlan-bro is home!" Isabelle squeals from within the kitchen. She can see the parking lot through the window, not that you'd even need eyes to know it's Farlan: he drives a '78, manual transmission Mustang that wracks the earth with seismic waves similar to magnitude 5 earthquakes. You can hear and literally feel when he's around when he's driving that fatuous, tar-burning lump of rusting garbage. Levi has warned him to steer clear of Berkeley campus in case his car initiates the rupture of the ever-ready Hayward fault transecting the athletics field, among other places. He's also warned Farlan never to touch anything in the house after driving it for fear of spreading burnt tar throughout his home. Farlan, above anyone else, is required to shower immediately after he comes home.

"Sup Farlan!?" Isabelle runs to the entry way and throws the door open. From the parking lot, Farlan looks up with a half smile and waves.

Isabelle goes back to the kitchen and continues with whatever she's doing in there. Levi thinks he smells stir-fry, but Isabelle never cooks anything that simple.

Levi begins to slowly lower his feet to the floor with his legs still outstretched. When his toes get about 5 inches from the ground, he holds the pose. His shoulders are starting to burn, and his abdominals are nearly there too. He doesn't break the pose, though. Farlan walks through the open door after several strained seconds go by.

"Yo." Farlan bends over to the side to greet Levi, who is now slowly placing his left foot on the ground. Farlan can't tell that Levi's body is actually on fire, because Levi's face and demeanor is the same as if he were relaxing on the couch. His legs do not tremble, and his face is as pale as ever-truly remarkable. A complete wonder.

Levi grunts in response. It's not that he couldn't easily chat right now in this position, he just doesn't want to.

Farlan darts to the hallway and presumably to his room so quietly that Isabelle completely misses him and runs outside in search for him.

"Where'd he go?" Isabelle murmurs, almost inaudibly.

"Room." Levi grunts. He lowers his right foot to the ground, then his knees, then he uncurls his upper body and rolls out face first into the floor. He forces everyone to keep the place immaculate so there's no need to worry about a mouth full of crumbs or other disgusting grime in his face or eyes, but he rolls over onto his back nonetheless. No need to have a mouth full of carpet after all.

Not this kind of carpet.

He wants Jack to call him back.

"I made stir-fry…" Isabelle murmurs, equally inaudibly as before. Just as soon as she arrives, she departs for the kitchen again.

When they're all seated around the kitchen table with a bowl of Isabelle's food in front of them, Levi can't help but disagree with Isabelle: it's not stir-fry. It's a noodle dish (home made) with partially pureed vegetables on top-like a sauce. Nothing about is screams stir-fry except for the smell of it... It would be out of character for her to make a stirfry anyways-she's a chef, and she can't escape from her work even when she's supposed to be kicking-it at home. Levi often accuses her of doing science experiments in the kitchen (not that it's a bad thing), and she doesn't deny using the kitchen for testing new recipes, but the food she produces certainly tastes better than third-grade science-fair, baking soda volcanoes. And yet, since Isabelle is either extremely emotionally mature or superbly spacey (Levi isn't sure which one it is), she doesn't gets defensive.

Whatever it is, it means they have a pleasant dynamic at home: Isabelle loves to cook, Levi obviously requires cleanliness, and Farlan-with his undying admiration and love for both of his friends-is easy to order around, if anything.

"This isn't stir-fry, but it's delicious. Thanks Iz, as always."

"Yeah," Levi mutters post delicately slurping up a medium sized noodle. "Thank you."

"Did you guys feel the earthquake?" Isabelle redirects. She's got her elbow on the table and she's propping her face up with her hand. Her eyes glaze over as she peers down into the golden bowl of delicate noodles.

"No. Where was it?" Levi asks.

"Hmmm… I looked it up, and I think it was near Santa Cruz. A little over a magnitude 5? I only felt it because I was lying on my bed, otherwise I don't think I would have noticed."

"It was Farlan and his ridiculous car."

"Hm. Maybe." Isabelle tilts her chin towards Farlan, but continues staring off into the distance. "What time didya leave?"

"Ten. As usual." Farlan is too busy eating to have anything fun to say except: "...I did see Mike hanging around in the parking lot this morning."

Isabelle completely misses what Farlan said after the word 'ten.' "Yea," She says, "it wasn't Farlan." She looks at Levi, who is looking at Farlan, who is looking at his very own empty bowl of noodles forlornly.

"He was in the parking lot when I saw him," Farlan continues, "so it's hard to say whether or not he had already made it upstairs. Didn't think to ask."

"Ask what? Who?" She's not in the mood for whatever conversation is happening right now. Halfway through asking, she gets up and serves herself another helping of noodles. Farlan follows suit.

Levi continues the banter with Farlan: "What was that? Are you not getting enough sleep? Tired of sharing a wall with my coworker's girlfriend?" Levi teases.

"Nanaba is great." Farlan clarifies. "Mike is fine too." He's walking back to the table, but is too eager to eat and stuffs a forkful of noodles into his mouth before he sits down. "They need to figure ou' a quie'er me'od is all."

"Oh." Isabelle smiles. "Earplugs sorta help."

"You don't even wear them." Farlan pulls his chair out and sits down abruptly, making the chair legs screech against the floor a little bit.

Levi's eyes widen at the sound.

"Well the noise doesn't really bother me," Isabelle gloats. She pinches up a bundle of glistening noodles and broccoli with her chopsticks, and opens wide, but doesn't put the food in her mouth. She smiles again, and says "Honestly, uh… s'hot."

Levi's eyes widen again. Suddenly he's imagining, in gross detail, the kind of sex that Mike and Nanaba must have.

"_ Perv _." Farlan shakes his head.

"Prude," Isabelle retorts, but in a sing-song kind of voice.

They sit in silence and eat, but not for long.

"It's fucking ridiculous that we throw $2600 a month into this shithole. We could save so much money if we moved. Somewhere with soundproofed walls, too."

"Where would we move?" Levi asks.

"Anywhere. Where do you want to go?"

"What? Where are we going?" Isabelle slams her chopsticks onto the table and looks at Levi and Farlan with a stressed look in her eyes. "Do we have to leave?"

"We're not going anywhere," Levi says, "Iz, you're spacing out every other sentence. What's going on?"

Isabelle lets out the chestful of air she was holding in, and shakes her head. "I'm _not _spacing out."

Farlan and Levi have nothing to say to that. They look at her, expecting her to elaborate.

"Oh it's just so stupid." Isabelle says. She glances sidelong at the window across the room and takes in a breath as if she's about to start talking. She doesn't say a word, though. Levi and Farlan continue waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Isabelle often has trouble putting ideas or stories into words, but it's okay. She's smart-this is just how she is. After several moments, she finally continues:

"I got an email earlier today. The internet provider listed my IP address in the…" she waves her hands around as if she were rearranging words in the vacant space above her, "The uhh… Oh my god. What am I saying. Okay so… here's the thing: I downloaded Invader Zim a couple days ago, and they caught me, and they sent me another one of those warnings about deleting it or something otherwise they'll suspend our internet or arrest me, and yeah. Well… uh... I really don't want to delete it, but if I don't they're finally going to come and... arrest me … ah _geez _..."

Farlan has to force himself not to grin. "If you get so fucking paranoid about downloading stuff you've maybe gotta reconsider downloading stuff to begin with. First off, they're not going to arrest you, but they might suspend our internet-which would be a pain in the ass. Second… well there is no second point, just stop downloading things. Stream 'em."

Isabelle looks sidelong at her placemat and nods her head, but she doesn't say anything. She likes the idea of owning Invader Zim, not just watching it, but she doesn't admit this because she knows Levi and Farlan will think she's being ridiculous, and she's too anxious about getting her ass behind bars.

"Anyways, at least if you get arrested it'll be a cool story." Farlan adds. "And then you can join our club!" He pushes Levi's shoulder a little bit. Levi glares at him, but Farlan doesn't care at all.

Isabelle lets out a breath she was apparently holding in and smiles a small smile. She gives Farlan a cute look. "It would be pretty funny," she agrees. Some of the stress has been lifted from her eyes.

"Hilarious. Anyways I think we'd have to move to the mountains," Levi redirects. "Preferably a quiet area where we aren't slaves to our landlords. Isabelle can open up that cafe, I'll order the tea, and Farlan… you can do whatever you want, I don't care." Isabelle smiles at this, and Farlan frowns in thought. Levi finishes his bowl of noodles, stands up, clears his place setting, and brings his dishes to the sink. He doesn't have to remind Farlan that Thursday is his night to do dishes, but he likes to. "Maybe you could be a busboy," he adds.

Farlan rolls his eyes. "Don't you have a movie to catch?" He balls his napkin up and launches it just past Levi's head, knowing full well the consequences of what could transpire when he does so. The napkin hits the wall, and before anyone can see him even move, Levi has pivoted around and thrown one of his wooden chopsticks at Farlan's forehead with not an inconsequential amount of force. Good thing Levi can aim well. The stick ricochets from Farlan's face and bounds across the floor before he's able to recoil. "Asshole," Farlan grumbles while rubbing his forehead, yet he smiles slightly. Who knows why.

Levi turns back around, looking blank-faced as usual but feeling content, and rinses his plate. "Don't expect tips with that mouth."

"Just leave your damn plate in the sink."

"Why? I haven't checked the showtimes yet." He shrugs, and walks out of the kitchen. On his way out, Levi ruffles Farlan's hair around, and Farlan slaps his hand away. Moments later, Farlan and Isabelle hear the front door open and close softly.

Levi frequents a local theater where they play an assortment of hand-picked, niche favorites most every Thursday. It's just something he enjoys doing, preferably alone. Thursday nights are the best because he always has the whole row to himself.

This Thursday, Moonstruck is playing-it's a cult classic from the late 80's starring Cher and Nicolas Cage featuring big hair, bold lips, a surprisingly handsome and young Nicolas Cage, a stunning Cher, and lots of satirical grand gestures.

Perfect. It does the job.

When he gets home, he reads at his desk until 1 am before he falls asleep… at his desk. He doesn't want to sleep in his chair because it's uncomfortable, but he is persuaded more by the idea that if he doesn't sleep in his bed then his sheets won't ever be dirtied. He still washes them even though he doesn't sleep in them for more than 4 hours at a time. Levi doesn't like to acknowledge this, but the only times he's successfully been able to sleep in a bed in recent years have been when he's at someone else's place-not his own. There's something relaxing about having someone else sleeping around him. But, he doesn't allow people to spend the night at his place, so he's not able to sleep like a regular person in his own room.

He breathes in deeply, and is pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet smell-something crisp but soft. It's minor, so he has to breathe deeply to experience it again.

Soft hair tickles his face.

Levi opens his eyes, and he's looking into the back of someone's head. They're lying in his bed, it's the middle of the night, she's dreaming, and he's spooning her. It feels right. She's a bit taller than him but who isn't.

He closes his eyes again and breathes in deeply. Her hair smells faintly like warm, sweet tea and something mild and floral. He slowly wraps an arm around her-careful not to wake her-and pulls her tightly against him. Then he buries his face into her messy hair. He wants to fall asleep again, but his hands are wandering now. Her soft skin is hot under his touch, and he's pleasantly surprised that she's naked.

Hm.

For the record, he is too.

His hand finds her ass. It's firm, and it's fat. What in the world. He absentmindedly grabs at the fleshy, under part where her ass meets her thighs, and he sighs. How in the world is this soft of an ass on someone this strong. She stirs slightly, and pushes into him, but it isn't clear if she's awake. He reacts by pulling her closer.

Quietly, he lets out another sigh.

"Hey," he murmurs. If she doesn't wake up he'll turn over, and try to fall asleep again. He'd be perfectly happy just reveling in the company and losing himself in the sweet abyss of sleep, but... it's worth a shot.

The person he's spooning turns her head. Somehow, despite having just been asleep, she has impeccable dark red lipstick, and perfectly permed hair. The resemblance to Loretta in Moonstruck cannot be ignored, but this woman isn't Cher. Levi's eyes widen in recognition. It's Max. This crazy head of moppy, shaggy, choppy, soft hair is Max's shitty Lorax mane. Levi narrows his eyes at her somewhat exposed cheek as the moonlight bounces off of it, and squirms against her again while pulling her in to a tighter hold. Fucking finally.

Hm.

When had they even hung out outside of Titan Roasters...?

Ah. His dick is pressed between his stomach and her fat fucking ass. This is a dream. He grabs at the latter and squeezes hard, then pushes her butt cheeks apart. Since he's dreaming, he's not going to worry about whatever it was that he was worried about a moment ago.

She whimpers, and then moans, and then growls all in one breath.

Max grabs the hand that's grabbing her ass and pulls it up as she flips herself over to face him. She doesn't say anything, but in the darkness he can see her staring intensely at him like she often does. Weird. She puts his fingers in her mouth, sucks on them, and bites down slightly, all the while staring into his eyes. It makes him want to moan, but he also thinks it's disgusting. He yanks his fingers from her face and shoves her away by the shoulders, but Max grabs his arms and shoves him almost off of the bed. Impressive. Levi tilts his head at her.

"Come here."

They stare at each other. Max doesn't move, but her red lips curl into a smirk. "Make me."

There's a cricket outside the window. It's loud.

Levi is suddenly holding a riding crop, Max's ass is suddenly in his hands, and she's bent over the bed in front of him. He's never seen an ass like this in his life. It's round and fit and, from this angle, makes a perfect, plump, heart shape. Is this what she actually looks like?

He lets the strips at the tip of the riding crop tickle and tease the upper part of her butt. Max sighs. She bows her head, and she sucks in a sharp breath when he pushes the tip of the crop against the same spot. There are little dimples in her ass where there's ample fat. He takes his time going over those lightly, but doesn't crack the whip. She's bracing herself. He wants to see how long she'll let him tease her, because there's nothing that he enjoys more than getting someone to beg.

Levi reaches out and grabs her left hip firmly, and he draws the riding crop over the lower part of her ass while holding her still. He runs it slowly over her cunt, and she whimpers. Levi has to force himself not to wake up.

"Don't be a bitch, Levi. Fucking hit me already."

_No _, he thinks. Dream Max is demanding. Maybe more demanding than real-life Max-but who knows. This is a fantasy.

He tosses the crop onto the bed and removes himself from temptation. Now, he's standing behind her about three feet away and staring at her. Max's doppleganger growls, but she doesn't change her position because, it seems, she's letting him take charge. How long will she let him do this?

How long _would _she let him do this?

He steps closer to her, leans in as if he's inspecting dust on a windowsill, reaches his hand out to her pussy, and lets his middle finger brush the tip of her clit and slide up towards her opening with a light amount of pressure as if he's wiping dust from said windowsill. When he gets to her opening, he pulls his hand away and licks his finger. His heart is beating loudly in his ears, but he hears her whimper slightly. Good. He has a singular desire to see two things come of this: he needs to see her get so disgustingly wet that her pussy is dripping before he even pushes a whole finger into her, and he needs to hear her moan a full, honest moan. He'll spend hours if he has to.

Don't wake up.

He tries the same move again, this time with his tongue, and he suckles on her clit for a moment. It makes his head feel light and his cock throb. He presses his nose into her slightly. She whimpers again, this time a little louder. She sounds frustrated. God, he wants to fuck her. She's lowered her face to the mattress and her ass is sticking up like a fucking invitation. He has to take a step back to admire.

Jesus Christ is this her actual ass.

Without thinking, he smacks her the upper part of her left ass-cheek hard with the palm of hand and she bucks her hips forward. Very hard. It stings his fingers.

"Like that?" He mocks. He picks up the riding crop and then immediately whips her with not an insignificant amount of force making the toy crack, and making her yelp.

God, he wants to fuck her.

"Ah fuck," Max hisses. Her hands grip his sheets and it looks like she wants him to be gentle by the way her back arches and her toes curl, but now he's warmed up.

"Don't bark orders at me if you don't actually want it." He growls. "Do you want this?"

"Yes-" she pleads.

He strikes in a spot just a centimeter below the last-she gasps.

And then again, and she squeals. Fucking do not wake up. Don't.

Then she moans, and he isn't even touching her. He has to grab his cock, and is grateful for all the precum because he can start jerking himself off immediately.

He strikes her ass again, in the tender spot across the lower part of her butt where here cute little pussy is exposed. She lets out another sweet moan, but he doesn't give her enough time to finish breathing out before striking her again making the moan turn into a cry. His free hand pulls up on his cock, while his other hand trashes the riding crop opting to instead smack her again. Skin on skin. He can only imagine what it feels like on the other end, just as she's bucking her hips and rubbing her cunt against his thigh as if she's trying to hide herself from the next blow but eager for him to keep touching her. The little fat dimples on her butt quiver with each smack.

That's enough.

Levi can't help sliding his fingers across her glistening, wet slit, and he can't help that she's eagerly pushing herself against him. He hears her moan exactly the way he wanted to hear it, and he pushes a finger into her as if it's praise. She moans again, and he starts fingering her. His mind is going white.

He swears he hears her saying his name, but he can't be sure because the sound of his heart beating is flooding his senses and his cock feels like it's about to explode.

Then, he wakes up.

It's two in the fucking morning and he's sitting at his desk with his right hand pressed against the crotch of his pants where his throbbing cock is trapped and his left hand gripping the metal armrest. He can't ignore this: he has to masturbate.

Levi doesn't take much time bringing himself to the cusp of an orgasm, but as soon as he thinks he's about to come, he stops fucking himself. No need to clean up a mess right now, after all: there are better things to do… like maybe he should sleep. He relocates himself to his bed and passes out immediately.


	3. Moonstruck

Friday:

Levi sits up calmly from his bed and stares at the wall across from him. It's 5:20 AM. Every fucking morning he wakes up 10 minutes earlier than his alarm, and every fucking morning he wishes he could sleep in a little later.

Keep going.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly-so slowly that his heart rate decreases and he feels like he needs to close his eyes. All he has to do is get his tea and try and push through all the bullshit of today-whether it be from Erwin, or some brats at his dance studio, or from whoever, wherever-and then_ he's off _. On Saturday he, Isabelle, and Farlan have a Dungeons and Dragons campaign to revisit, and the farmer's market is Sunday. Maybe he'll even have a moment to sit by his window and read after he's done cleaning this evening.

Underneath his blankets still, his legs lie outstretched in front of him. The tips of his toes bow under the weight of the cloth. With a swift flick of his wrist, he tosses and turns the blankets neatly over themselves on the other side of the bed, exposing himself to his cold room. He leans forward slowly, grabs his feet to stretch his hamstrings, and then takes in another deep breath that fills his lungs. _Five… _He can almost feel the hot tea scalding the tip of his tongue and smothering his insides with fire. _Four… _It's a sub-boiling mouthful of bitter nirvana and he couldn't bear to think about his morning without it because he's a terribly dependant son of a bitch. _Three… _He presses his forehead to his legs and tightens his grip around his feet. _Two… _His mind goes still. _One… _

_One… _His alarm goes off.

Levi groans. _One…_ _Fine._

His hand slams down upon his alarm clock and he pushes himself out of bed. After briefly considering how different his life might be if he could just sleep like Farlan does, he steps into his shower for a rinse and doesn't even bother turning on the fan because the water won't get enough time to warm up to produce steam. Steam means the room will get damp, which means he'd have to wait for the mirror to clear so he can better inspect himself, which means this routine would take longer, which means he'd have to wait longer before he can drink his fucking tea.

Nothing matters more to him than drinking his fucking tea right now. Nothing.

Anyways, regardless of how long it takes him to prepare for the day, Max will have that tea prepped by 6:00 AM. And he'd hate for the tea to be waiting, so there's absolutely no room for error.

He's halfway out of his bathroom when he notices something in the mirror that makes him come to a complete stop: it's his hair. It's… long. Levi feels a slight twinge of impatience test the corners of his mouth into a grimace. His hands yank a fresh, long microfiber towel from an overhead rack and with it he impulsively towels his hair until it's absolutely dry. It takes a minute. The drawer to the left of the sink contains a sharpened straight razor and a clippers kit, the latter to which he attaches an 1/8th inch comb, huddles closely to the sink, and then accurately and precisely trims the front of his undercut at a practiced, confident speed. Months ago, he installed a small mirror across the bathroom at an angle such that he can see the back of his head while in this position. The straight razor is used to clean the edges, and while he's at it he shaves off the small facial hairs starting to grow above his lip and around his chin and jaw. He's grown his beard out to about a half an inch before, and it's much more full than one might think it would be.

Though, he didn't like it, for personal reasons.

Moving on.

By 5:55 AM he's ready. For tea. It doesn't really matter, but his departure is a couple minutes later than usual due to his impromptu trim.

At 5:57 AM, he bolts out of his dark apartment with the graded papers and his laptop in his backpack and walks at a runner's pace to Titan Roasters.

The jaunt takes about five 5 minutes. He enters, walks directly to the register, and mutters "12 Oz breakfast tea for here" even though he knows she's already prepping it. Like clockwork, he procures the money from his jacket pocket and doesn't even look at the tea brat as he's handing the cash over and securing the tea in his eager hands.

But _wait… _He looks into the steaming mug that he'd just plucked from the counter. She usually hands it to him. His jaw clenches. _No. _

"How long have you been letting it collect dust like a fucking urn on a fucking mantel?" he looks at her face, and is instantly reminded of the voracity with which his hands were devouring her ass last night. She's wearing the same fucking lipstick and her sub-curly mane is wildly reaching heights he never thought possible. Hm. She _does _slightly resemble Cher… but just slightly; she's got rounder, fuller cheeks; deep-set, freaky eyes; a cute, button nose; a surprisingly strong brow and jaw; and her hair looks like it could start squawking and flapping around the cafe all on its own. She's definitely _tall enough. _Like an overgrown weed. _Where the hell is she from. _Levi licks his lips, but it's too small a gesture for Max to notice-especially since she's gazing downwards at a scrawled up notepad and forlornly rubbing at the side of her face.

"Hm? Oh you finally showed," she hums. She smiles a vacant, small smile at him while avoiding eye contact. She's looking at the crisp edge of his collar, and the alluring way his neck is partially covered. "Been there a couple of minutes." She starts to yawn, but immediately shuts her mouth before it can open past a centimeter. It makes her eyes water. "You're later than usual. Were you serious about that job offer yesterday?"

Levi steals a glance at his watch just as the minute hand sweeps from 6:02 to 6:03. _Presumptuous asshole. _

"I'm not trying to come in at 6:00 AM sharp every morning," he says. Then the question she just asked him sinks in. "I was serious."

"Yeah, okay cool." She quips, and resumes spinning her pen against the messy notepad. She hasn't looked into his eyes still.

"Tch." He takes a sip and the tea is perfect, so he doesn't have anything to complain about. But he loves to complain, especially to Max. Half of him wants to request a fresh cup, because he likes being rude and inconveniencing her sometimes. However, he doesn't want to wait the five minutes or so for a fresh cup of tea. Instead he opts for: "Don't do that." A classic. Levi waits for her to acknowledge him.

"Do what?"

"Assume I'm going to arrive exactly at 6:00 AM," he says.

When she finally makes eye contact, she winks at him like an absolute fuckwad. "You got it," she replies with that vacant smile. She's not going to listen to him, he can tell: her batting eyelashes say all. The eyes they protect are a freaky bright yellow-green color that on principle make him question her intentions… as if the color of her eyes make her seem untrustworthy. Like a freaky caricature of a sneaky, black cat or a wolf.

Not to compare her to an animal.

He doesn't have anything to say but he doesn't want to leave yet, so he just stares at her and sips his tea. The result is a semi-awkward pause which Max feels, and is flustered by. She didn't intend for this wink to mean anything _unlike last time _, but now they're both silently observing each other's eye color and she's starting to feel like maybe, just _maybe, _she inadvertently imparted an extra little something into that stupid wink.

Did she? He's still looking at her.

Max bites her lip. _Say something? _She doesn't have anything to say. _Or not… whatever. _

His eyes are so fucking wild: they remind her of cold, smooth river stones. _Fuck _. He's looking at her like he wants to eat her.

_Fuck. _Admittedly, Max can be extremely affected by prolonged eye contact; it's why she avoids it for extended periods and then hides her insecurity behind winks. She can maintain it just fine when she's actively trying to make people squirm, but any other time it's truly a hardship. We're all a little hypocritical sometimes.

She feels her face get slightly warm, and it's invigorating. The end of high school was the last time she ever blushed over a _boy _because she's _basically _only been smitten by women and outwardly queer people for years, and now she feels out of her depths. Why? There's no good reason. Levi is just a person... _He's just... a person. _She's hooked up with plenty of people-probably eight times more people than her mother would have liked-and has pretty much always been the dominant partner (save for a couple of very hard hitting ladies). But right now this obviously isn't the case. She feels vulnerable. This tiny, testy tea-fiend is making a dom feel sub. What is happening.

_Don't be a dumbstruck fucking virgin, Max. You know what the fuck is happening. Stare back. _Max checks her wrist for the watch that she forgot to wear today, then looks back up at his collar to avoid his eyes. It doesn't help. _Now _she just wants to reach across the register and slowly unbutton his shirt to see if his skin looks as soft on his chest as it does on his neck. _Do it, coward. _Her breathing has slowed, and her heartbeat is strong but steady.

If he doesn't say anything soon, she doesn't know how long she'll be able to resist lunging, and it doesn't even look like he'd mind.

"Good," Levi says abruptly, and then takes his tea to his table where he belongs.

Max lets out the breath she had been holding in and fumbles with the notepad at her fingertips. She stares off in the direction Levi went and her mind races about nothing in particular: just his unwavering frown; his breathy, deep, demanding voice; his disinterested expression and his intense stare; his trim waistline and strong posture; his never-ending slew of orders and lingering neediness; and, at the moment, the bone-chilling way he says 'good' and how it makes her question whether or not anything is actually just 'good'.

He's a bit shorter than she is, and he doesn't look like he's a body-builder or anything, but he looks like he could chuck her across a room and that turns her on more than it should. What does he look like naked. Max wonders if the length of his cock is proportional to his height even though she's pretty certain it's not. Big dick energy. Everything smells like black tea. She wants to make him come in her mouth so she can see what he looks like when he's not looking like he's sucking on a sour patch kid. She feels lightheaded.

And then, she feels smug: she's not going to stop making his fucking tea at 5:56 AM-how presumptuous of him to even think he could change that. It's as much her routine as it is his.

On the other side of the cafe, Levi is surprised to see Erwin actually doing work for once. The vein popping out of his supervisor's forehead is what gives it away: Erwin looks frightening when he's actually doing his work, because, in truth, Erwin couldn't care less about most of the work he does as a professor. To be more precise, Erwin hates hates most of the work he has to do as a professor. He only keeps this job because he's unhealthily obsessed with his research and that his title gives him a god-like ego boost…

Anyways. He has his own reasons, and he's given Levi a job.

Levi sits down, places his prized cup of tea onto the table, and pulls out his laptop, setting it gently down on the clean table in front of him. Bad move. The table tips towards him and a little bit of his tea spills over the rim. It's a fucking catastrophe.

"Shit-" Levi hisses. He's sprung from his chair and is now holding the tea above the table, looking around for Max who is likely the culprit of this. She's acting strangely. She probably made sure to kick this specific table off balance before Erwin or Levi got here this morning-

_What?_ _The fuck?_ Levi's brow furrows slightly._ Where did that come from? _Max has disappeared from her typical spot behind the register. He glares at the wall behind Erwin. He feels irritated, and now a little confused. Max isn't trying to sabotage him-that wouldn't make sense. She's much to forthcoming to pull off this kind of fuckery. His eyes pan to his aforementioned supervisor.

Erwin gives Levi a 'sucks-to-suck' sort of look, removes his laptop from the table while minding the spilled tea, and then pointedly looks past Levi where there's a napkin dispenser as if telling Levi that he ought to use those to clean this up, pronto. Levi narrows his eyes at Erwin.

"Erwin-" Levi starts. Just then, the door to the back room is thrown open and Max is strutting past them with her apron tossed over her shoulder and her phone wedged between that shoulder and her ear. Levi watches her hips as she strides away from him and out of the cafe. Her ass _is _round. It makes sense, he thinks. He often sees her biking all around this stupid city with her stupid, old, shitty, dirty bike. It has an unmistakable, grimey, bright-orange crate bungeed to the back rack and is smothered in a myriad of cartoonish reflectors. Levi doesn't like her bike. To clarify, he likes seeing her around town because, fuck it, she's cute, but he can't stand that bike. She's always in the middle of bustling streets surrounded by idiot drivers who can't get their sweaty hands off of their grimy, grease-slicked phones: it's an ambulance-ride begging to happen. He hates the bike.

But damn.

Max hops out of the way of an incoming, clueless customer, turns to tell them she'll be right back, and then proceeds to the door giving Levi an excellent view of her lanky, beautiful waistline and her bouncy, heart-shaped ass. She's wearing high-waisted, flattering, black jeans that hug her where she's fat and drape where she's thin. Levi narrows his eyes at the crisp seams. Those jeans are ironed. How odd. But charming? The cafe door clicks shut behind her and Levi is whipped out of his thoughts.

"_ Tch _." The steaming mug is still dangling at his fingertips, and Erwin is still waiting for him to clean this shit up.

"Yes?" Erwin asks.

"...Did you make this table unstable?" he finally asks. It's almost a rhetorical question.

Erwin is silent, but there's a glimmer in his eye. "Why would I do that." _That _however _was _rhetorical.

Levi rolls his eyes. Instead, he shoves the confused, swirly feeling in his chest away and fetches a handful of napkins. "Erwin. Fix it," he says, standing assertively at the end of the table with one hand delicately holding a small stack of napkins and the other hand holding his tea cup by the lip.

Erwin doesn't like taking orders.

And Levi doesn't like repeating himself.

So they remain.

Max gently pushes the door open with her foot as she re-enters. She carries a potted plant in her arms and has a friend trailing behind her who is lugging an overly-full grocery bag full of tomatoes. That's it-just tomatoes. They barrel through the cafe quickly but not quietly.

"What time tonight?" the friend asks.

"Probably going to start playing at nine," Max smiles, "It's later than usual-but we've got an opener." She looks over her shoulder at her friend with a cute look of excitement.

"Hell yeah."

"One moment sir I'll be right with you-" Max throws the door to the back room open and disappears with her friend.

Once the door is shut behind them, Levi's attention snaps back to the dilemma at hand, but Erwin has just finished rotating the table back in place. Now he's sitting there-elbows on the table, chin in his hands, and looking at Levi with his overly-sharpied eyebrows raised. Levi wants to tell him to shove it, but instead he wipes off the spilled tea, sits down, and drinks what's left in the mug to avoid gossipy confrontation. He doesn't want to grace Erwin with any comments about his nonexistent relationship with the cafe attendant so he procures the completed stack of graded assignments from his backpack and hands them to Erwin, but it's like handing a weak, crummy treat to a dog that's eyeing your sandwich.

"Did she ask you out yet?" Erwin asks. Disappointed, Erwin frowns at Levi's choice to change the correction ink to a measly red ballpoint pen, making these fresh-from-the-guillotine papers far less bloodied than yesterday's collection.

Staying true to his intentions, Levi doesn't grace a response.

"Or did _you _finally ask _her _out?" Erwin's frown deepens once he notices that Levi's grading style also became more lax overnight so this group is doing remarkably better.

Levi's mouth is occupied by his tea, and his eyes are occupied by a news subreddit.

Max returns from the back room, and her friend-whoever she is-is talking up a storm about some event going on tonight that Max is evidently involved in. Levi's interest is piqued. Also, Levi's mug is out of tea, which is a problem. Tea brats can fix these sorts of things, though.

He gets up, ignores Erwin yet again, walks slowly to the register, and stands behind the one guy already in line. The guy in front of him orders an almond milk latte with an assortment of other superfluous ad-ins and Levi can practically hear Max's eyes roll once the guy leaves.

His turn, he puts his mug down, and before he can order Max to make him some obscure tea, Max preemptively tells him she'll 'be right with' him. Damn her. She's still talking to that friend, whoever she is. Sometimes he's reminded that he hates the fact that she's always working when he interacts with her. This exchange would be different if they were real friends in the real world outside of Titan Roasters where Max isn't just a barista and Levi isn't just a dependant caffeine addict. Who knows. Maybe she'd instead incorporate him into this conversation…

Then, feeling more self-aware, he steps away from the register a little bit. This is real life. He and Max _are _friends in real life, he realizes, he just… Levi feels his eyes widen slightly. He feels that warm feeling swirl around in his chest again.

This must be because of that dream last night. And because Max is a serial flirt. It's her stupid, knowing eyes; her stupid aloofness; and her stupid, bitey mouth. And, also, her fat fucking _ass _. It's like the supreme overlord of all asses he's ever seen and he hasn't even seen it. _Damn her. _It's completely unfair. Where did it even _come _from? How come it took his sex-obsessed subconsious _four years _to notice a fucking Mecca of all butts right in front of him-he's seen her face and her tits and her ass and her legs and whatever the fuck else four days a week fairly consistently for _four fucking years _and to top it off they've been _flirting _this whole time and he still _just noticed she's a fucking babe _.

It's shameful.

Levi looks up at the ceiling and tries to shove his fuckboy alter-ego out of hearing distance while wondering if her nipples and inner labia are the same dusty rose color as her lips.

"I'll get you anything you want, but first..." Max turns to Levi, "This is Levi," Max introduces, "Levi, this is my friend Christa." His fingers tighten the hold of his mug. If they were to start touching one another right now would they even be able to get out of the cafe?

Christa gives him a cute smile and a wave._ We'll need to. _

He looks blankly at the friend. She looks like an angel, or, a classic depiction of an angel, at least. "Charmed," he says. Then he immediately looks Max in the eye. Max doesn't look like an angel. Thank god. He's clenches his jaw. It'll probably be several days worth of time depending on how wet he can get her and how hard he's fucking her.

Christa giggles.

"What do you want-?"

"Can I get a coconut-"

Max and Levi stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Levi wonders if Max has a preference when it comes to who's on top, and specifically if she'll like doggy style or borderline-violent spanking or both so that he may relive that disgusting fucking dream.

"Could you repeat-?"

"Pouchong-"

Max purses her mouth shut and flares her nostrils. She doesn't say anything before she suddenly darts off, leaving Christa and Levi to stand next to each other in awkward silence. He _could _go back to his table...

Levi feels Max's friend's (he already forgot her name) eyes burning into him, but he avoids acknowledging it. He doesn't want to talk to the friend; he doesn't want to even look at the friend. People stare at him often. He doesn't know why. He has a distinct look, and he doesn't go out of his way to blend in, but he doesn't feel like he sticks out that much. Fortunately whoever-she-is can read the room and doesn't say anything. A few seconds go by and she shifts her gaze to the countertop.

He just wants Max to come back with his tea, and then he wants Max to talk about her performance going on tonight so that he can think about going to it but ultimately decide to not go because he doesn't have the fucking time and _then, _after drinking his tea while it's still hot, he wants to follow Max into the back room where he can waste no time making her come with just his hand.

Max doesn't accept his cash this time, so he throws it in the tip jar.

Literally ten minutes later when he comes up for his third cup of tea, Max lifts the flip-top countertop and steps aside. She's expecting him to follow her behind the counter. It's unfamiliar. Levi doesn't accept the invitation immediately.

"Why," he says. He peers into the kitchen that he has never truly, fully seen, and then looks up at Max. This opens up new possibilities, he thinks. Now he's thinking about kneeling on the ground while she's working and face fucking her behind the counter. Would she be into it? He wonders how long she could keep a straight face while taking orders from unsuspecting customers.

She smiles a small smile. They stare at each other. "Come on," she urges. "You've been hired," she says, laced with a lightly sarcastic tone. _God, he wants to fuck her. _

Levi tilts his head, but slowly steps through the lifted counter and into the kitchen. She hands back his empty mug after giving it a quick rinse.

"From now on, when I'm here, just take whatever tea you want. We keep the loose tea behind the counter _here _along with empty bags, hot water dispenses from _there _." Levi _knows _. He's watched her so many times now. "I'll still make the first cup. You can do the others." She shifts her weight to her left hip, "And _only _when I'm here. My boss knows you'll be doing this."

"You're being generous. It's weird."

"I'm tired of making your tea," she says. It's partly true.

"Then you should quit." But not before he can facefuck her behind the counter while she's taking orders from unsuspecting customers.

"I like your company." She adds quickly before her brain can stop her. "Not that it's an invitation to just stand back here while I'm working, but… yeah, feel free to make whatever you like. Leave the money by the register or just hand it to me, like usual." Max made it most of the way being able to look at him, but near the end of her monologue she lost the capability to maintain eye contact. A light blush spreads over her face.

He narrows his eyes at her mouth.

Another moment goes by. Max wonders if this was a good call-all she can think about is how she wants to pin him against the wall and grope him through his clothing. She wants to know what it would take for him to blush and gasp.

"Deal," he says.

Hanji throws the door open and steps inside with the biggest smile on their face. "Good morning!" they proclaim at no one in particular. Levi shakes the daydream of fucking Max from behind while pulling her hair and pinning her against the countertop.

There are only four people in the cafe right now, and they all look at Hanji with dead eyes. "Messi! Can I get a dirty chai? Three shots!"

"Yeah." Max licks her lips and continues staring at Levi. Hanji is quickly walking towards the register.

He feels that warm feeling swirling around in his chest again. Amazing that he has cotton mouth after three cups of tea. "_ Messi _?" Levi redirects, " _What the fuck kind of nickname _-" he suddenly smiles a small smile. "Ah.

Max stares, expectantly. "Hm?" Hanji has arrived at the register.

"Your last name is Mess." He continues to smile to himself, "That's awful. Max Mess. What a shit name."

"Eh… What are you doing back there, Levi?" Hanji tilts their head. In their arms is a messy stack of papers and hanging from their shoulder is a satchel bursting at the seams with a massive boatload of papers shoved into it. Their goggle glasses are fogging up, so they peel them from their face and hang them around their neck.

"We needed a busboy."

"_ Hm _."

"Ha!" Hanji exclaims, and then completely redirects the conversation as if Max had never said that, "Max, I need to ask a favor. Jasper and I are going camping up in Jenner this weekend and we were wondering if we could use some of your gear."

Max puts both of her hands down on the counter and leans towards Hanji. Levi's eyes widen. He laments her choice to not wear a skirt today. "Jenner?" She asks.

"Yeah-" Hanji starts.

"Some fuckers did some fresh mapping of the mouth of the Russian River. There's a new paper on landslide deposits up there that are laden with high-grade blocks of retrograded eclogite." Max takes a pause to asses her audience to see if they even care about this, but no worries: Hanji's face has contorted into a huge smile and her eyes are opened as wide as they can go. Levi is busying himself familiarizing himself with the tea library. So, Max proceeds: "You can just hike down to the beach on the north side of the estuary! The huge boulders sticking out of the sand are some of those big displaced blocks of eclogite… It's beautiful-the glaucophane and the omphacite are swirled like soft-serve and the garnets are like teenie-tiny sparkling soccer balls-"

_Eclogite… _Levi thinks he's heard of that rock before, but whatever. He's not a geologist. He's not even an anthropologist-he just has that as a job title.

"Sorry to interrupt, but our meeting started a few minutes ago Hanji, Levi." Erwin, who has suddenly approached the bar, looks pointedly at the latter who is skillfully tying the knot on a fresh bag of tea and dunking it into his mug of hot-but not too hot-water. Levi makes a mental note to bring his own diffuser.

Hanji ignores Erwin, and nods at Max to continue. But Max, unable to ignore Erwin, glares at him. Moments like these are the reasons why he failed so miserably in persuading her to work for him.

"Eh well I want to hear about this landslide deposit…" Hanji starts, they're trying to be diplomatic, "I'll be at your place later today. Get me a copy of the paper."

Before exiting the kitchen Levi wraps three quarters in change into a single dollar bill and slowly places the bundle into Max's unsuspecting hand-it's semi-clasped to the other behind her back. He gently forces her fingers to curl around it. Her hands are warm, soft, and dry; and they're slightly callused.

She reflexively tightens her fingers around the money he's deposited and catches a couple of his fingers before he has a chance to pull away-though he didn't intend to pull away quickly.

He doesn't have to turn to look at her to see that she's blushing because he's that much of a fuckboy right now. Too bad he can't linger. If he _did _turn to look at her, he'd see that not only are her cheeks flushing a beautiful pink, but she's deliberately licking her lips as if she were about to touch her tongue to a dripping ice cream cone. Shameless. She wants him to look at her.

Erwin's cockblock spans the remaining time that Levi had been intending to spend fucking Max with his naked eyes. Just his luck: as soon as that meeting is over, he has to bolt up to campus to meet with some students and get some hours in at the lab. In the rush he completely forgets to give Max his number, which he decided he had to do as soon as he realized he actually _did _want to kneel on the dirty fucking floor of the kitchen to get his face in her cunt. Oh well. If he doesn't see her tonight at her gig-which he likely won't attend because he has important plans to clean his house-there will be next week.

There's always next week.

_Damn. _This safety net of 'there's always tomorrow' is why they've been flirting for so long... Maybe he'll go to her gig after all. He has yet to see her play drums or sing or do anything remotely musical aside from bang cups onto counters or tap her fingers against literally everything or calmly call him dumb things with her modulated, silvery voice.

Levi does the unthinkable later that day and asks Hanji for details on the gig tonight over text.


End file.
